The Laws of Love & War
by ravenslight
Summary: They were supposed to be the antithesis of what the other wanted. Opposite sides of the war, family names with a history of bitter clashes… but James Potter found himself inexplicably drawn to the strong blonde from the Black line, losing himself in her for as long as he could. When war looms, so does the end of their arrangement. Goodbyes are always easier in theory.


**Author's Note: **I didn't know I needed this pairing until I wrote it, and then they snuck up on me and carved out a bit of space in my mind for a head canon. So the following is a little glimpse into Narcissa and James when they _were_ a Narcissa and James. The title of this fic comes from the song The Laws of Love and War by The Glorious Sons.

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**The Laws of Love & War**

They learned each other in the dark.

Before Lily.

Before Lucius.

Together, they lost themselves in the solace of forbidden embraces. And though she was all cold edges and he was all fiery heart, they balanced each other in a way that James was scarcely able to articulate, a way he would be hard-pressed to find again.

It was impossible, it seemed, for them to be anything more than a fleeting escape from the life that loomed over them, the responsibilities and sorrow and heartache that was inevitable.

With Narcissa, James learned that happiness could be a person.

He'd watched her—oh, he'd admired her for so long in the Great Hall. The way her hair cascaded over her shoulders in smooth, silky waves, the blonde shining in the low candlelight. The way her nimble fingers caressed the stem of her goblet. The way her eyes flashed just _so _when someone at the Slytherin table said something she found funny, but wouldn't deign herself to laugh at.

But she'd watched him, too. Coy eye contact was an intimate game they played. The way her tongue flit out to prepare the lip of the goblet sent a jolt of adrenaline straight to his gut. When the pumpkin juice slid down the long line of her throat, he swallowed roughly, watching her lips lilt up in a satisfied smirk.

He'd long perfected the art of rearranging his desire beneath the tabletop.

And then they'd been appointed as prefects and forced into closer proximity.

It started with innocent touches, lingering too long whilst handing out patrol schedules. It evolved into long discussions on late walks through the castle, traversing every topic he could imagine just to keep her talking, to keep her low, sultry voice directed at him.

Neither of them wanted the war. Neither of them wanted to hurt anyone, to watch those they loved die, to witness the crumbling of a world they both held so dear.

Together, they could dream. Death, war, hatred… it all ceased to exist when James was with Narcissa. She was the calm to the storm inside him, and part of him longed to whisk her away until the war was but a distant memory.

And when she pulled him into a broom closet and painted red-lined kisses along the column of his throat, he thought he might expire on the spot. But when she lowered his trousers, crouching on her haunches with a prim smile, and said, "You can't tell me you've never thought about it," James knew he was lost to her.

So that was how it began: frantic touches in the moonlight-bathed broom closet, her warm lips tracing an unforgettable path to his groin and pulling him into the velvety warmth of her mouth.

That was when James learned that a name could be a prayer.

He was captivated by her, but he held no illusions that it could last. Beyond the broom closets, the empty classrooms, the prefects baths, they only orbited one another. He desperately wanted to hold her the way that Sirius held Mary, the way Frank cradled Alice to him, but even if they hadn't been destined for different paths, Narcissa wouldn't allow herself to indulge in anything so pedestrian as public displays of affection.

But when they were alone...

Soft, manicured hands slid along his shoulders, one long nail scratching over his pulse point. Her lips followed the line, soothing the sting. "Where did you go?"

James leaned back in her embrace, allowing himself to go buoyant in her touch. Beneath the suds suspended in the prefect bathtub, he allowed his hands to roam, slipping over her smooth skin.

"Hmm?" Pulling him tight against her chest, Narcissa settled her chin in the crook of his neck. The steady beat of her heart grounded him, and James closed his eyes, reveling in her touch.

"You're lost in your head again. Tell me what you're thinking."

He sighed, all illusions that he'd distract her from his musings falling away, and he turned in her embrace.

Narcissa had always been beautiful, as were all Black women, but something about her… James couldn't put his finger on what exactly drew him in so inexplicably. Maybe it was the way she held herself. He would be foolish to deny that her looks weren't part of her charm, but he knew it was far more than that.

Narcissa Black was a powerful woman, and he was a moth to her cold, cool flame.

When her legs settled around his hips and she draped her arms around his neck, he leaned into her hold, resting their foreheads together. He breathed his words into her skin, admiring the goosebumps that rose in the wake of his breath. "I was thinking about us."

A delicate laugh tinkled from her lips, and she arched backward, quirking a perfect, pale brow in the low light of the baths. "Us? Potter, there's a war outside of these walls. You know—"

"There can't be an us," he finished, the words heavy on his tongue. "But until it comes to the gates, there is one. An us." He leaned back, watching the way her gaze traced his face lovingly.

_Love_. It was a word they'd danced around often. Neither of them said it. But it was there, suspended between them in every breath, every caress, every coupling, and James would be damned if he didn't take everything she would offer him, _give _everything she would take from him, while he could.

He supposed it was the Gryffindor in him that spurred his suggestion, quiet between them. "Come away with me."

Stiffening in his grasp, Narcissa reeled back, eyeing him critically. "It's impossible. Tomorrow we leave for the Christmas hols, and—"

"And you'll return to your family, who will sell you off like chattel to the highest bidder." James could hear the bitter resignation in his tone, but he couldn't let her leave without trying. "Cissa, what we have… we can't let it go."

Her finger pillowed on his bottom lip, and she followed it with a soft kiss before she nipped him. "We've always known that this would have to end." Though she smiled at him, her eyes were tinged with sorrow. "Enjoy it while it lasts, yeah?"

A knot formed in his throat, but he swallowed it down as he leaned into her embrace, pressing kisses to the high planes of her cheekbones, her temples, her eyelids, the tip of her nose; wherever he could reach, he left a trail of kisses to map the peaks and valleys of her porcelain perfection.

It was a goodbye of sorts, and a promise. To never forget what she'd meant to him… what she'd _always _be to him.

Finally, his hands slid up her lithe body, tangling in her damp hair, and he slanted his lips on hers.

This kiss was different. He always worshipped her; she deserved no less. But this kiss… it was everything he wished to tell her and more. Futile hope that she'd walk away from her family and come with him. The love that burned so fiercely in his core every time he looked at her, every tilt of her proud nose, every sassy retort.

If he kissed her long enough, he might be able to brand himself into a part of her soul.

Because though Narcissa was reserved, she was all soul.

It was effortless, their coupling. When he pressed her against the wall, ripples moving outward from the embrace, she slid up, positioning him at her entrance and sliding slowly down until she was seated on him fully.

He couldn't move, though he never could. The first breach of her heat was always rapturous, the way her body seemed to mould itself to him like a glove. And she clung to him as though her very life depended upon it.

These were the only moments that Narcissa Black allowed herself to come undone. The passion she shared with him pulled back the veil that she shrouded herself in, and James saw glimpses of the hopeful heart she'd buried deep within.

Once, he had dreamed of scaling the walls she'd built around her heart.

Once, he'd hoped she would see what he could offer her, what he knew she so desperately deserved.

But Narcissa was nothing if not loyal, and he knew that despite his myriad hopes, she'd never betray her family.

Not for James. Not even for herself.

But those were the laws of love and war.

And so he moved, the languid pace of his hips gliding through the water, pushing her in unhurried strokes against the wall. She'd have scrapes along her shoulders from the rough stone edging, but James had grown to understand that Narcissa liked her pleasure with a bit of pain.

Narcissa's hands roved over him as he moved in her, the featherlight touches over his ribs, his back, his arse, serving to drive his desire higher. This sensation—getting lost in her touch—would be what he thought of when it hurt too much to remember everything else.

She was everywhere at once, breathy exaltations falling from her lips. "Gods, you feel so bloody good." Her voice lacked the sultry tone when she was lost in the motion, her legs coiling tighter, crushing him to her chest until all he could do was roll his hips against hers. "Oh gods, right there."

Nipping her shoulder to keep his own exaltations—far more dangerous than the praises she whispered into him—from answering hers, James groaned. Her walls were beginning to flutter around him, driving him to his own edge, but he was determined to hold out for her.

For the last time.

But then she was drawing back, her hands leaving their anchoring on his shoulders. She cradled his jaw in her hands, those soft, exultant hands, and tilted him to her lips. They crashed together, and she drank him in as though he was her last breath.

He knew, then, that this was her goodbye.

Stilling inside of her, James returned the kiss in kind. If this was to be the end, he wanted her to remember it. He wanted her to feel the part of him that shattered, and a masochistic part of him wanted her to take the remains with her.

If for no other reason than to numb the pain.

When she drew away, tears rained freely down her cheeks, the tip of her nose brightening in her grief. But he followed her, kissing the trails away as he resumed movement.

The water had long-since turned cold around them, neither thinking to cast a warming charm before entering the bath. But he didn't care, couldn't bring himself to tear away from her as she whimpered—though whether it was pleasure or sorrow, he couldn't tell—his name. "James, I—"

His gaze snapped to hers, tracing the lines of her face, willing himself to memorise it, to enshrine this moment. Lower lip trembling, she leaned in to press another kiss to his lips, and he thought he imagined the words ghosting over them.

_I love you_.

He was undone, a low sob tearing from his throat as he arched into her. "I'll always love you."

And then they were tumbling over the edge together, muffled shouts wrapped in gasps around their tears. Colour exploded behind his eyes as he buried himself within her, a riot of emotions cramming in his throat for escape.

None of them could drown out the despondency that the climax of their coupling wrought.

Narcissa was coiled around him, the force of her hold digging her nails into his shoulder blades. He could feel the steady thrum of her heart against his own, and still, he was searching for the difference.

Surely there was a sign—a physical marker, a change in the way their bodies operated—at the significance of this departure.

Except there wasn't.

Her heart still beat frantically within her chest. She still smelled of the plumeria bath wash she favoured. They still fit together like pieces of the same puzzle, her head tucked neatly within the space between his neck and shoulder as though they'd been cut from the same mould. He was still nestled inside her warmth though he continued to grow soft inside her.

Nothing tangible marked the changes that he could feel in his heart.

When she pulled away, he couldn't help the look that roved over her features. Tears still sprung freely from her eyes, but gone was the soft wonder that had beheld him moments before. The pureblood mask was firmly in place, though the hard shell couldn't contain the tears that slipped through the cracks.

Slowly, he withdrew himself in the silence of the baths. Though she reached for his hand, it was a loose embrace.

She'd already left him.

They exited the water together, and James took one last moment to admire her unadulterated beauty, water rolling off her in rivulets. It was almost like starlight, the way the candle flames flickered and refracted in the droplets. And how fitting, too, since he'd come to think of her as his north star, the one thing always guiding him safely home.

They dried one another as they'd grown accustomed to, the soft of the towels sliding over their puckered skin. Revered. That's how he wanted her to remember this. That he revered her through it all. Through whatever end.

Finally, when they were dry, she spoke. "I'm sorry."

Two words, and they lanced through his heart like a blade. He couldn't even pretend when she looked up at him with baleful eyes, but he chuffed her under the chin with a wan smile. "I always knew. It was never forever, but…" He swallowed, searching for the right words. "I won't forget."

The smile that answered him was blinding, and he forced the hand that wanted to wipe away her fresh tears into a fist at his side. "Never," she breathed. "Goodbye, James."

He couldn't move when she padded up to him, could scarcely breathe when she pressed a final kiss to the underside of his jaw, and he was sure his heart stopped entirely when she laid her palm over his chest. Of its own volition, his hand rose to meet hers, clasping it urgently in his shaking grasp.

For just a moment, he thought she might stop, might change her mind and agree to stay here with him, to love him and let him love her in return—

But a door opened, the clanging of it against aged rock breaking the spell, and she slipped her hand from his grasp.

"James?" His name echoed through the caverns of the room, and he knew that voice. He knew that it was who he was supposed to want, who he _had _wanted until Narcissa had ensnared him so completely.

With a final, sad smile, Narcissa pressed a lingering kiss to his lips and slipped into the women's changing room as Lily rounded the corner, brows drawn in confusion.

"I've been looking all over for you; Sirius managed to burn his eyebrows off again. You know he never listens to me even though I'm his prefect." The soft tilt of her lips at the joke should have shaken the melancholy in him, but he blinked once, unable to rouse himself. "James?"

With a shake of his head, he smiled down at her, forcing himself to nod. "Right, I'll get changed and meet you in the common room, yeah?"

Her smile was brilliant, but it couldn't compare to the smile that set his soul aflame. When she leaned up and brushed her lips over his cheek, he startled. "Maybe… maybe we can get a Butterbeer together, if you'd like?" Lily's expression was hopeful.

But James… his heart stuttered in his chest when he glanced over his shoulder and saw Narcissa, her shoulders slumped and tears welling in her eyes as she lifted a hand to him. When she nodded once and slipped out the door, he felt his heart crack, a small piece of it leaving with the woman he loved.

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_A million thanks to mcal for alpha reading and dreamsofdramione for beta reading this! They're both gems, and I'm endlessly grateful for their time and talents!_


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